


The Parting: Alternate Ending

by Spacewhalewriting



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bottom Thranduil, Dark Crack, Dragons, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacewhalewriting/pseuds/Spacewhalewriting
Summary: TLDR: Thranduil awakens the dragon. The sexy, sexy dragon. (Starts out the same as "The Parting" original, alternate ending includes smut)





	The Parting: Alternate Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Legends and Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651921) by [Spacewhalewriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacewhalewriting/pseuds/Spacewhalewriting). 



As the news spread through the cells, the dwarves erupted into protest that one of their company would be separated from them. Silwen was determined to make no show of the despair she felt, but couldn’t help attempting to see around her guard as she was led away to seek the faces of the company. As she was taken she shouted back, a poor attempt to comfort them, but no less genuine in her desire to be returned to them.

“I’ll come back!”

It was the last she saw of her companions for a good amount of time.

_________________________________________

Because she had no expectation of what awaited her outside the cells, Silwen followed her captors silently, face cast downwards but eyes darting anywhere and everywhere for possibilities. What if she could melt through these bonds? Would it be possible to evade her captors and flee back to the cells to lead a daring escape?

She did not expect to be led upwards out of the dungeons and into the palace, into a room richly adorned in the fashion of wood elves. She was instructed to undress behind a partition; as she did, her clothes were taken and replaced with robe to cover her modesty between there and a steaming bath, where she was left to her own devices. Had she not been naked, she would have fled then and there. In hopes of the return of her clothes, she sank down into the water and began to scrub. What felt like centuries of filth steamed from her skin, leaving it glowing and pink, and after many rinses with the scented water, her hair shone again. Even her wearied muscles seemed to loosen in the enveloping heat. By the time she had wrung the water from her hair, she found that a linen to dry herself with and a dress had been laid out for her. It was a simple garment, a thin purplish grey slip of silk.

A voice.

“How long it’s been.”

It was the elf king in all of his shining grace. Thinking nothing of the tender treatment she’d been given since she had been removed from the cells, Silwen ached for her little sword, thinking to point it at his beautiful throat.

“How dare you.” She snarled, only the tiniest thread of fear keeping her from hurling herself at him and beating him with her very hands like an animal. “You have no right to imprison us here!” In her anger, she did strike out at him, only to have her wrist caught mid blow- not to be deterred, she struck out with her other hand and found it stuck just as fast in an iron grip.

“I have every right. You and your company are intruders within my borders and therefore under my dominion.” He was tall, impossibly so, towering head and shoulders over her. He bent so they could be face to face, his light eyes seeming to glow with triumph. “Oh, Siladhriel.” He murmured. She stared at him blankly and again jerked at the grip he had on one of her wrists. He searched her face but found no trace of recognition beyond animosity. “Do you not recognize me, Siladhriel? Have shackles and time worn away those memories? Nearly an age has changed you, but I sensed that it was you. Traveling with a company of cast offs and nobodies, no less.”

“You are mistaken, I have never had the displeasure to meet such a contemptible elf in my life.” She spat, vexed and in no mood for him to hurl insults at her friends.

He hissed at the taunt, releasing one of her arms so that he could drag her to a long silver mirror set into the wall. Yanking her flush to him as if she was no more than a leaf, he held her there despite her struggles.

“Look.” He demanded, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to look in the mirror. With a sudden flush of heat, she seemed to grow in his arms; a woman stood there entrapped, a beautiful glowing woman with hair wrought of the finest silver and heavily lidded eyes that matched. Barring the Lady Galadriel herself, she was the most ethereal creature Silwen had ever seen, a far cry from her own stocky frame and common features. She stamped in an effort to get away, but when he forced her to look once more she responded coldly to this apparition, refusing to show any amount of pleasure towards anything the elf king could show her.

“She’s exquisite. Who is she?”

“You.” He said, simply. Instantly, she rebuked the idea. Who was this that he projected onto her? Had he suffered some loss and chosen her as his sick surrogate- a vessel empty enough to be filled and formed into a false replacement?

“My name is Silwen. Your magic is an unkind illusion.”

“Gandalf told you that, didn’t he? Likely when you were a child, giving you some common name and asking you never to question it. Did you never wonder when the ages of the world began to pass, and you remained unchanged? What daughter of man lives untouched by time as those around her wither and grow old?” He spun her around and somehow he didn’t seem as terrifyingly tall, as if she had grown in the short time between now and her previous attack on him.“I know what you desire, deep inside yourself.” He continued. “I know what you covet more than more than valor, more than companionship....more than freedom even.”

“I am loyal to my king, its the completion of his quest that I desire, in all my efforts.” She said, and wrenched her face from his grip, voice sharp and haughty. For a moment he looked taken aback before a soft laugh escaped his lips, one eyebrow quirking into a very skeptical position.

“ _Your_ king? Are you a dwarf now, that you would have loyalties to that fool?” Once again his eyes hardened.

“I do not believe for one moment that you took upon this quest out of the kindness of your heart, nor out of pity. You have never once held pity for another creature.” The accusation cut deeply because it was true- at least in the beginning. Before she had grown to know and love her companions in travel and hardship, she had taken it on out of selfish reasons. Promise of release from the hutch that she had woven herself into over the years, and promise of treasure. _Oh, of the untold treasures_....

He leaned close, his hand wrapped half around her throat, his finger slipping behind her ear and thumb pressing against the soft, vulnerable hollow where her neck met chin.

“I know what you are, Siladhriel.” He murmured. “As long as you are contained in that low form, it suppresses your nature. As you have been chained, I can release you.” Another wave of warmth spread throughout her body- this time a liquid pain that made her feel as if her very skin were stretching to make way for new muscle and bone. She jerked in his grip, even her jaw seeming to expand like that of a snake as she opened her mouth to release a noise of pain- sharp teeth were revealed there and the voice that emerged was not her own, a low, deep bay.

“Do you feel it now?” He asked, holding her tighter as she buckled in his grip, writhing as her body seemed to struggle within itself what form to contain. Images flashed before her empty eyes that could not be from memory, of fire and voices. “Do you feel it eating you from the inside out, like a sickness? A fever?” Indeed she did, and in the fever came memory of what she had been before. With every breath her twisted form seemed to shine brighter, as dazzling as the jewels that drilled covetousness deep into her heart like a vile worm. Need devoured her, her sense nearly fled. “You’re on fire.” He said, brushing her hair away from her face with the back of his hand and cupping her cheek. His murmur felt cool against her ear because he indeed was right. “You are fire. You’re shaking....I can feel your hunger for it. To spend your days wrapped in starlight as you once did.”

Finally her form had settled once more into grace, but when she opened her eyes she was deeply betrayed by what he had awakened in her. Oh, she burned from her skin to her organs, slit pupils focused on him with singular intensity. With preternatural strength she forced him backwards from her and into the mirror, shattering it with the force of his colliding body. Tender and barefooted, she walked to him like a child, stepping upon the pieces unharmed. How foolish. The elvenking would choose to awaken a sleeping dragon but forget that his own beauty made him a thing to covet. Siladhriel lowered herself, resting upon her heels and reaching out to stroke a lock of Thranduil’s glimmering hair. Her voice was warped and dark, larger than her body.

“You look like starlight.” She said. And he was right, she so deeply coveted starlight. A king of the woodland realm did not take so kindly to his own prisoner acting out in such a manner; he made to stand, thinking to drag her by the hair to the bed and show her who exactly was the possessor in this situation. She spoke again, as if catching his thoughts as they went into the air. “I desire you.” She said, smoothing her other hand up the brocade of his robe. Underneath it she could feel rippling muscle flex instinctively, unsure yet of whether or not it would throw her off. “And you desire me, or so say your touches. We can bargain for lives later; first let me taste what you have to offer.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she put the very tips of her fingers to his lips, halting him as if he were no king. “You’ve had your piece to say, Elvenking. Yes or no.” She coaxed, slit pupils fixed upon him with poisonous hunger.

“Yes.” He said, weaving his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck so he could pull her closer to taste. Moving like water, her legs slipped around his own and found her seated in his lap. Small pieces of broken mirror had embedded themselves into the palm that Thranduil had used to steady himself, but her bare knees upon the same ground took no injury. He took her mouth in a bruising kiss, unaware of her slender hand finding a knifelike shard of mirror beneath them. Oh, she tasted like the last berries of summer; sickly sweet, a dark red taste that he drank like heady elvish wine. When he felt the prick at his throat, they parted a hairs breath, still sharing the same electric air.

“That’s enough, there will be no more of that.” Siladhriel whispered, neither of them daring to quite open their eyes. Despite the threat she felt him begin to press hard against her and at this she smiled. Grinding down upon him wickedly, she pressed the sharp edge closer to his alabaster skin, drawing a pearl of blood. “Do you understand what you have done?” She asked.

“You must th-” He began, but her eyes lit furiously and she slapped him, pressing the makeshift blade tighter still to his throat.

“Yes or no, elf.”

Haughtily, he glared at her for some good time before nodding. She took away the shard, inspecting him with a critical eye as if something were wrong. Then she extricated her limbs from his, standing over him and offering her hand as if to kiss. “Come.” She said. Thranduil regretted not realizing that released into her memories, Siladhriel would remember and embrace the greed of a dragon; but any animal could be chained, should you feed it well enough for it to think that it might want to be domesticated. He would bide his time and wait upon this brazen woman, so long as it served his pleasure, he told himself. He followed her to the bed.

He sat, but not fast enough- with a sigh, she lifted a slender leg to push him with her foot and climbed atop him once more, the skirt of her slip riding high on her thighs.

“You bore me, pretty thing. Do not bore me.” She said, taking a handful of his robe and slitting through the buttons, tossing away the mirror once she had done so. A trickle of blood had gone from his throat and down his collarbone.

“Ah...!” She said, running her finger through it in fascination. “I’ve always thought elves had such fine blood. Like rubies.” Her eyes fixed upon his bleeding palm. “Give some to me, and I’ll reward you.” She reached between her breasts and ripped apart the gossamer fabric of her dress as if it were made of spiderweb, letting it fall from her body. Thranduil sprang upon her, sitting up in bed to meet her- he raked his palm across her neck and naked torso, leaving a trail of blood down her heated belly. This was fire. Blood and jewels. He had eyes like opals, so light blue they were almost white. She would possess him like the first in a series of crown jewels.

He was not to kiss her nor speak so he writhed under her, achingly hard as she ground and frotted against him. The fabric of his trousers was beginning to grow damp with his desire, but she would not have him having his pleasure before her.

“Down.” She said, pressing against his sculpted chest with her fingertips. “I want you to worship me, elf.” She answered his question before it was asked, and this he accepted, drawing her thighs in close as she lowered herself onto his lips. His mouth on her was liquid and hot, her fingers weaving themselves through the silk of his perfect silver hair to steady herself.

“That’s right....taste sta-a-ar....light.” Her voice faltered, ending in stuttering moan that only encouraged him. The impudent creature might have him bleeding and on his back, but they had been there before. It always ended with her defeat. Softly, he worked his tongue and lips against her, worshiping as she had commanded. He was rewarded with soft mewls of pleasure, her cunt beginning to drip into his mouth; she had that same heady, sweet taste, lips plump and ready to be taken. Siladhriel could hardly hold on anymore, her legs trembling as that slow, heavy heat coiled low in her belly. She could hardly breathe again, abruptly separating herself from him and wishing she had kept the shard because she couldn’t get his trousers undone fast enough. He was heavy in her hand, and thick. So impossibly thick that feeling him against her entrance, there was no possible way that he was going to fit, but she was dripping and so close that she was willing to try.

“Here’s your reward.” She said, and she pressed heavily down upon him, managing to push only part of him inside. A broken stutter of pleasure formed deep in her throat- Thranduil needed no urging to fuck upwards, forcing himself the rest of the way in within a few strokes and releasing his own groan. He had been terribly teased and denied and now he would have something his way; he did not halt, pounding unforgivingly into her slick cunt and extracting cries that he had never extracted from her before. Binding his wrists above his head with her own hands, she rode his huge cock at this full gallop, feeling her climax re-approaching quickly. She tightened as she got closer, wringing every bit of pleasure from him that she could, savoring the stretch as he hammered her. Finally she could not take it a second longer, driving herself down upon him as deeply as she could possibly fit him, then more- she gripped him so tight he saw stars, his climax coaxed into spilling over by her own.

She did not stop, slowly milking his orgasm for all that it was worth until they were both shuddering and he was weakened beneath her. She couldn’t believe that she had never thought to keep her treasure live and squirming.

“I believe I shall make my home here, and you the beginning of my new collection.”  



End file.
